


At Last

by MystWords



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystWords/pseuds/MystWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Sister Julienne never offered to allow Delia to stay at Nonnatus? What if Delia and Patsy lost touch?<br/>Set eight years later. Patsy has a daughter, Delia is alone...pupcake will ensue..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: ‘At Last’ - Etta James**

 

_‘At last_

_My love has come along_

_My lonely days are over_

_And life is like a song’_

“I don’t want you to go.” Eleanor says. You stare into her eyes, so much like your own and smile.

“I know but I have to.” Your mind is set on it. You’ve known since Delia sent the letter asking for you that you would go.

_Please, Pats, I need to see you._

“But why? Where are you going, Mama?”

“To see an old friend.” You hate leaving her and she hates you leaving but you have to do this. It’s been eight years since you last saw Delia hop on that train bound for Wales. It’s been eight years since you caught a glimpse of those expressive blue eyes and dimples that could convince you to do anything. Eight long years and now you have a six year old daughter and widowhood to greet her with.

You lift Eleanor onto your knee and tuck a few errant strands of curly brown hair behind her ear. She looks up at you, frown in place and lower lip poking out. You stroke her cheek.

“You’re my daughter, Eleanor, you know I wouldn’t leave you without good reason and you know I’ll be home as soon as I can. In the meantime, Aunt Trixie will be looking after you.”

“Aunt Trix?” she says, smile in place and dimples so reminiscent of Delia, of Edward on show that it makes your heartache just a little.

“Yes.” Eleanor cheers and you smile. “Don’t think I don’t know about all that cake she feeds you, my Darling. Not too much, okay? You’ll make yourself sick,” you say, ticking her. She squirms and giggles in your arms and it fills you, it gives you air to breathe. You sometimes wonder if this is how you used to make your mother feel.

You hope so.

“I won’t, Mama. I won’t, I promise.” You stop tickling her.

“I love you, Elle.” You kiss her forehead and breathe in the scent of your little girl.

“I love you, too,” she says, reaching up and kissing your cheek with a loud ‘mwah’.

You hear a knock at the door and place her on the chair next to you before going to answer it.

“How’re my two favourite girls?” Trixie says, stepping into your living room and depositing her coat on the back of your sofa. The glare you throw at her goes ignored as she breezes past and scoops Eleanor up.

You pick up her coat and hang it where it belongs.

“We’re good, Aunt Trix.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Trixie turns to face you, Eleanor tucked onto her hip. “And where are you going?”

“Out.” You say, looking for your gloves and willing yourself not to blush.

“And where might ‘out’ be?”

“Mama’s going to see an old friend.”

“Oh, really, Elle Belle. Which friend is this?” You sigh.

“Delia.”

“Pats.”

“No, no, I know. She asked to see me. She needs me for something. I’ll go and do what I can and that will be that.” Trixie throws a sympathetic look your way and you look away. You can’t bear it. “I won’t be long, a couple of hours at the most. You know where everything is. Make sure she’s in bed by eight o’ clock.”

“I will, I know the drill,” Trixie responds, voice softer and less playful, now. You remember the days she used to tuck your little girl in, back when you first lost Edward and didn’t know what to do with yourself other than cry.

You loved him in your own way. You were the best of friends and he healed your broken heart after Delia left, always understanding that you loved him as much as you could but never _that_ much. Always understanding that your heart belonged to somebody else, even if you never said who.

You swallow down the lump in your throat.

“I mean it. Be good. I know what you two are like when you get together.”

“Adorable?”

“Trouble. Now, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” you say, kissing Eleanor’s forehead and touching Trixie’s forearm.

“Take all the time you need, Pats. You know I love spending time with this little monster,” she says, squeezing your hand for a second before letting it go and squeezing Eleanor. Eleanor squeals and Trixie laughs, softly.

You smile and try to hold onto this lightness, this happiness for a few seconds longer.

“Thank you for this, Trix. I’ll see you soon. I love you both,” you say, righting your scarf around your neck.

“Love you, too,” they both respond in unison and you smile. What would you have done without Trixie? Trixie who’s always been there, helping you through losing Delia, losing Edward and raising your daughter alongside you, despite having her own family to look after.

You must find a way to thank her properly, soon. If you remember rightly, there’s a show her and John, her husband, would love to go and see together. You must get them tickets and offer to look after the two boys.

You pull your coat tighter around you as the wind bites into your skin and tuck your head down, focusing on one foot in front of the other. What could she possibly want from you? You haven’t heard a word since her mother came and swooped her away from your grasp and now she’s here, asking for you.

You feel sick, like you’re walking to the firing squad. You don’t know if your heart could take her walking away again but it needs too.

You look up and focus ahead.

You have a daughter, now. Things are different. There’s a strength inside you you never knew before. Despite losing almost everyone, you feel stronger than ever with memories of Eleanor tucked inside your rib cage, fortifying your bones until they’re stronger than metal.

If she walks away, you won’t stand there watching this time. You will hold your head high, eyes dry and walk back to your daughters loving smile.

You keep walking, always looking forward, head high.

Before you know it, you’re standing in front of Delia inside your old haunt. The Jukebox stills stands off to the side.

For a moment, the blue of her eyes takes your breath away. The smell of sweet smelling Tulips, the smell of _her_ washes over you and every memory, every kiss, every touch comes flooding back.

You remember why you place fresh flowers on your window sill, every day, why you always smile when you deliver a cup of hot milk to Eleanor when she can’t sleep, why you never loved Edward as much as he loved you. And it’s with these last thoughts you remember why you must be strong, why you cannot let her break you again, why you need to be everything your daughter needs you to be.

She cannot lose another parent. She will not suffer like you did. Luckily, Eleanor was young when Edward passed, when a car ran him over and took him from you both. You show her pictures and tell her stories about him and she listens, she learns and loves him in her own way but you know it’s not the same. So you square your shoulders, hold your head high and look her, Delia, the woman you love in the eye.

“Hello,” you say.

“Pats,” she breathes out and wraps her arms around you. “It’s so good to you.” You smile and pat her on the back. She burrows her head into your neck.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” She shakes in your arms and you frown. She’s missed you and yet she never responded to your letters. She upped and left without a word, and you both know that all she had to do was send you a letter or call you on the phone and you would have responded.

The fact you’re here after all these years is proof of that.

She’s missed you and yet she left without contact.

You set your shoulders and step back. You catch a glimpse of her tear stained face, red tinted cheeks and blue, blue eyes before looking off to the side. You swallow and take a few moments to compose yourself.

“You asked to see me?”

“Yes, yes.” She wipes quickly wipes her eyes and takes a breath, sitting down at that familiar table. “There’s so much to say- to tell you. I-I don’t know where to begin.” She looks small and lost. It reminds you of that hospital visit, so much. You pull out the chair opposite Delia and take a seat.

“Just-just start at the beginning. Tell me why you never responded to my letters?” You clench your jaw.

“Oh, Cariad. Pats.” You look around making sure nobody heard, making sure nobody was paying that much attention to either of you. You pretend paranoia is what’s making your heart beat so fast and not the Welsh beauty across from you. “I did respond.” You frown.

“No, I never received a response. Not at all.”

“I know,” she says, reaching out and placing her hand over yours. Your mind is too pre-occupied trying to figure out what happened to pull it away. “I know. My,” she takes a deep breath before continuing, tears falling, once again. “My mother passed away a couple of months ago.”

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that.”

“While I don’t doubt you are, I think a part of you isn’t but its okay. She was lost after Tad died and then she got sick, too. I half think it was heartbreak that killed her.”

“Deels, I really am sorry to hear that.” You turn your hand so it sits in hers and squeeze it for a moment before letting go. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m getting there. It’s hard but,” she shrugs. “I’ll get there. I can be strong, like you.” You smile in encouragement and wish you could help her but you still don’t understand what’s going on, what she’s trying to tell you.

You both sit in silence for a few minutes trying to figure out how to proceed.

It’s with a deep breath and a wipe of her eyes that Delia begins again, tucking her hands in her lap and looking so, so small. How you wish you could wrap her in your arms and make everything okay, again but you know that won’t happen. There’s a distance between you that’s never existed, not even when you first met.

“I was there, in the room when she passed away. She kept saying sorry, that she wished knew how to fix it. I didn’t know what she meant, at first but then she told me about the letters, the ones you sent to me, the ones I wrote to you…the ones she kept in a locked drawer instead of posting.” You gasp and feel anger, so much anger fill your lungs and bones.

“Why did she do that?”

“I don’t know. She said she thought it was best and that afterwards, when she saw how sad and heartbroken I was she didn’t know how to fix it. She thought she’d lose me – that I’d come to London and be with you and that would be that. No letters, no calls.”

“Would it have been like that?”

“Maybe at first but I would have forgiven her, eventually. She was my Mam. I would have because I would have had you and I’d have been happy. And now? Now, I don’t know what to do. I don’t have anyone and I can’t even be angry at her because she’s gone, but I am. She took you away from me. I spent years wondering what I did wrong, why you wouldn’t reach out to me.” She looks down, playing with her fingers but you see the tears still falling. “But it was her.”

You wish you could cry, too. You want to but you’re just so, so angry at Mrs Busby. All those years of hurting and wishing and wanting were because of her, not because your Darling Delia didn’t want you.

Your life could have been-would have been so different.

“I know things have changed. Sister Mary Cynthia once told me that you have a daughter and a husband. I don’t want to cause you anymore pain but I just-I just wanted you to know the truth. I never stopped wanting, or loving you and I’m happy for you. Really, I am.” She reaches forward, placing her hand on your lower arm, soft smile on her face as she looks down. “I bet you’re an amazing mother.” She looks up, tilting her head and familiar twinkle in her red rimmed eyes. “I always imagined you as a stern but loving one. I’d sneak our child some sweets and you’d find out, telling us both off for spoiling our dinner but nursing us when we were sick from eating too much.” You smile and imagine Delia doing just that with Eleanor. Oh, how these two would cause you so much trouble if they were together.

“You imagined that?”

“Yes. I know it’s silly, that we could never have children together but, sometimes,” she shrugs and you see her rosy cheeks steadily darken. You’ve always adored it when Delia blushes, on the very rare occasions that ever happened. “I’d see you with a child and I just wouldn’t be able to stop myself from imagining a little you running about.” You reach over with your other hand and place it on top of hers.

“What about you?” She frowns. “Did you ever-did you ever get married or find anyone else?”

“Of course not.” She looks down. You feel sadness lodge itself in your throat and it takes you a while to find a way to speak.

“Why?”

“Because of you. It’s always been you, Patience Mount.”

“But I—”

“It’s okay, Cariad. I understand why. I’m glad you found somebody to love you, to give you a child.”

“I-it,” you take a few moments to formulate a response. “It wasn’t like that. He knew I never loved him like that.” She frowns and tilts her head, much like your daughter does now and your heart melts.

“Then why?”

“We-Edward and I were good friends. Trixie introduced us one night, about a year after you left.” You smile, remembering it well. His slick, dark hair and friendly face instantly endeared you to him. He was a good, kind man, you always knew that and you recognised some of yourself and some of Delia in him, too. “He was-he was like us and after a few months, once we became really good friends, he confided in me that his family was pressuring him to marry.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” you look down. “I’m not proud that I didn’t marry for love, neither was Edward. He used to dream about the day people like us could marry the people we really loved.”

“Someday we will be able too. I know it.”

“He used to say the same thing.” You smile again. “He always reminded me of you.”

“I’ll have you know, Patience Mount, that I am all woman, as well you know.” You can’t help the laughter spilling out from you. She always had this effect on you.

“Indeed, I do but that’s not what I meant. He was so optimistic, like you. So happy and cheerful. And he was from Wales, too.”

“Something about the Welsh, eh?”

“Yes.” You smile. “I think that was half the reason I could marry him – because he reminded me of you.”

“Then why,” she says, struggling to figure her thoughts. “Then why a child?” You sigh.

“We both loved Eleanor from the moment she was born but we didn’t create her from love. Edward’s mother wanted an heir but more than that, Edward and I wanted a child, just not with each other, and he wanted to provide even more security for me, should anything happen to him, because his mother never like me.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, as optimistic as he was, he always felt like he would leave this world earlier than expected and he did.” Delia sucks in a breath and looks at you, trying to read how you are feeling.

“I’m glad you found such a good man, such a good friend to marry.” You smile. Of all the people, she would be the one to know not to apologise for his death. She would be the one to know just want to say to you.

“Me too.” You’re silent for a few minutes remembering his laughter, his friendship, his voice. “We were both so relieved when I got pregnant after our first, and only…encounter. I assure you, our natures were even more absolute after that experience.” Delia giggles and you throw a playful glare in her direction. “Shouldn’t you be consumed with jealousy instead of laughing at me?” You smile at the twinkle in Delia’s eye.

“Would you be jealous if I lay with somebody else?” You sigh, once again.

“Unashamedly so.” She smiles and looks softly at you.

“A part of me is jealous but a bigger part of me is happy you have a child, a daughter no less, Cariad. And I know, I know now that it wasn’t from love – that it wasn’t like us.

“Oh, my Darling, how I’ve missed you.” The tears finally come but you fight them, like always. You never have and never will be one to cry, even with Delia. She stands and walks around the table, holding a hand out to you.

“Pats, let’s go for a walk. It’s still so warm out at this time of night.”

You take her hand in yours and feel eight years’ worth of distance slip away.


	2. Hallelujah, I Love Her So

**Chapter 2: ‘Hallelujah, I Lover Her So’ – Ray Charles**

‘When I'm in trouble and I have no friends,

I know she'll go with me until the end.

Ev'rybody asks me how I know.

I smile at them and say she told me so.

That's why I know, yes, I know,

Hallelujah, I just love her so.’

 

Warmth. That’s what you feel. The kind that comes from sitting by the fire with a warm, milky brew on a cold December night, Eleanor tucked into your side. Heat seeps into your bones and you feel so relaxed, so…free.

Delia is by your side, arm linked with yours as she walks next to you, smile on her face. You can’t help but smile, too.

“What’s she like?” You frown. “Eleanor.” You take a few moments to formulate a response.

“You.”

“Cariad, how could she be like me? She doesn’t know me.”

“No, she hasn’t but whenever I look at her, I see you.” Delia furrows her brow. “She has your eyes – so expressive, so blue.” Delia’s hearty laugh and smile steal your attention for a few moments. You quickly glance around the deserted street before lifting your hand and stroking her left cheek. “And a dimple when she smiles, just like this. And the cheekiest grin. She always keeps me on my toes. She’s wonderful, perfect…She’s just like you.”

“Oh, Cariad, you always were a sweet talker when you wanted to be.” You laugh. “Do you think—“ Delia looks down and the smile that was on her face fades. “Do you think she’d like me?”

“I know she will.” Delia looks up, smile back in place and beams at you.

“How old is she?”

“Six.”

“When is her birthday?”

“The 8th of April.”

“Favourite colour?”

“Yellow, just like yours. Why don’t you come around for dinner tomorrow and meet her for yourself?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to intrude,” Delia says, looking anywhere but at you and playing with her fingers. You stop and place your hand on hers to stop her fidgeting.

“Darling, I just invited you, you won’t be intruding.” You frown. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason?” you say, trying to meet her eyes. It takes her a few moments to answer.

“What if she doesn’t like me, Pats? What if she hates me?”

“Oh, sweet girl. She will like you. In fact I’d wager she’d love you as much as she loves Trixie if given the chance to know you.”

“What if you’re wrong?” You lift her chin.

“I know my daughter. She will love you. There’s no need to be scared or nervous. It’s just us.”

“That’s why I’m so nervous. You’re both so special, I couldn’t bear it if she didn’t like me.”

“She’ll love you. I promise you, sweet girl. Come tomorrow and you’ll see. Unless you really don’t want too?”

“No, that’s not it. I do want to.”

“Then please, come tomorrow and I will cook your favourite just how you like it.”

“Okay. But only if you’re sure.”

“I am,” you say, linking your arms again and continuing your walk. You breathe in the fresh air and your lungs feel fuller, your body feels lighter than it has in so long. “What have you been doing since you left?”

“Oh, nothing important, not really.” She shrugs. “Just working and avoiding marriage.”

“I bet you had all the men asking for your hand,” you say, playfully, forcing your jealousy to stay buried. “I know if I was a man, I would asking for your hand in marriage until you said yes,” you say, winking. Delia throws her head back and you take her in in all her beauty, savouring the way her eyes light up, her throat that you’ve kissed many times, her laughter echoing in the night.

“If you ever asked for my hand, I’d always say yes, in spite of what’s in your pants,” Delia says cheekily, tongue poking out from the side of her lips for a few seconds before she erupts into laughter once again. “And yes, there was some…offers made but of course I turned them down, much to my Mam’s dismay.” Delia shrugs. “I retrained as a midwife.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s amazing. So much more rewarding than male surgical and it, it reminded me of you. It made me feel closer to you, somehow.” You squeeze her hand.

“But you don’t need that to feel closer to me. Not anymore.” She smiles.

“What do you do now? I can’t imagine you as anything other than a midwife. A housewife just doesn’t suit you.” You laugh.

“Luckily for me, Sister Julienne has allowed me to continue working at Nonnatus house during the day. Obviously there’s limitations to all that I can do and it is not as rewarding as being a full time midwife but the nuns love Elle and its nice being useful.” You sigh. “If only for a little while. I’d hate to be in the house doing nothing all day.”

“I can imagine.”

“Yes. It was so very kind of Sister Julienne to allow me this privilege. So, you’ve been in contact with Sister Mary Cynthia?”

“Yes. After the last dinner I had in Nonnatus house, we talked. She’s so kind and easy to talk too. It was weird to write to her at first, especially after months of not receiving a response from you, but eventually, it just became therapeutic and sometimes she’d say something about you.” She clears her throat. “I-I always thought she knew. At least how I felt about you.” You frown and Delia catches it. “We never spoke about it, not explicitly but it was just the way she phrased things, the way she seemed so sympathetic when she told me about you getting married.” Your skin feels too small for your frame and your throat clogs up. How heart-breaking it must have been for Delia to learn of your engagement, your marriage, you pregnancy. You imagine how it would feel to hear about Delia doing all those things and swallow down the sick feeling creeping up on you.

A car whizzes by and you check the street you’re now walking on. There’s a hotel up ahead, a pub with two men sitting outside, beers in hand and cigarettes in lips and a row on shops, now closed.

You clear your throat.

“I’m sorry you had to live through that.”

“It’s okay. I won’t lie to you, Cariad, it hurt, so much, but I was happy that you found someone. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.” You try to avoid squirming and pulling away despite the fact that you want to pull Delia into your arms and kiss away the heartbreak. To any outsider, you look like two friends out on a late night walk, not two ex-lovers who still care deeply about each other.

Delia notices your silence and looks at you, jaw clenched as she pulls her arm from yours and takes a small step away from you.

You feel the cold air take her place and she shiver. She’s always known you so well, of course she’d notice. She smiles, sadly.

“Anyway,” she takes a deep breathe. “This is me.” You frown. “My hotel, it’s just here.” You forgot that you have to separate, that you can’t keep her with you forever and talk and listen and never let go.

Your throat clogs up and you wish so much you weren’t so paranoid, so conscious of what others might think. Maybe then she’d have walked straight passed with you just to spend some more time together. That would be such a Delia thing to do.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’ll come? Tomorrow that is?”

“If you really want me too.”

“I do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Patience Elizabeth Mount,” Delia says, smile in place.

“Yes, you will.” You want to take her in your arms and hold her close. You want to kiss her, tell her everything in your heart. There’s so much you want to do that you just can’t and not for the first time, you’re so angry with the world.

Delia walks towards the door and turns once she reaches the hotel entrance to glance at you one more time.

You stay rooted to your spot, watching until you can no longer see her.

You walk home with a smile plastered on your face, despite how the night ended. She loves you, she’s always loved you and she’s here, she’s here with you and tomorrow, the two most important people in your life get to meet.

You can’t ever remember feeling quite as light as you do right now.

Trixie raises an eyebrow at you as you walk through the door, smile still in place.

“I take it the night went well.” You hum in response and Trixie narrows her eyes. “How is Delia?”

“Perfect.” You sigh and Trixie rolls her eyes, following you from the living area into the kitchen where you begin preparing a milky brew.

“She broke your heart—”

“No. Her mother broke both of our hearts, not Delia,” you say, spinning around and glaring at Trixie. She takes a step back, frown in place. She moves her lips but no words come out. You relax your defensive stance and feel the weight of the wold. “I-I’m sorry. It’s just,” you shrug. “I’ve always been a little bit defensive of Delia.”

“I know.” You sigh.

“Trix, it really wasn’t her fault, she explained everything.” Trixie looks suspicious but allows you to continue. “Her mother kept my letters from her, and her letters from me.”

“I know Mrs Busby was never the nicest woman in the world, but I never imagined she could be so cruel.”

“I know,” you say, sitting at the small table, back against the cold kitchen wall. Trixie pulls out the chair opposite you, lighting a cigarette and taking a few puffs before continuing.

“So what happens now?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “She’s coming for dinner tomorrow night.” Trixie looks at you for a few moments whilst you begin lighting your own cigarette. She takes one last puff.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea.”

“I think so.” It’s silent save for the tick of the clock for a few minutes.

“Elle is asleep in bed.”

“What time did you put her to bed?” you say, eyes narrowing as Trixie looks everywhere but at you.

“It may or may not have been a little bit after 8 o’ clock, but not too late.”

“Mhmm.”

“It wasn’t. She wanted just one last story.”

“She always wants ‘just one more’ story from you,” you say, smile in place.

You’re so glad they get along so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken so long to write. University is killing me but instead of finishing my dissertation these past few days, I wrote this instead. I know it's not as long or as good as my previous chapter but I promise to make the next chapter better (especially since Deels & Elle get to meet *cue the cuteness*). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it anyway! 
> 
> \- A
> 
> P.S. check out this cute fic, 'Extending Friendships' based off of my first chapter by [Carolcreags](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Carolcreags/pseuds/Carolcreags)


	3. In a Sentimental Mood

**Chapter 3: ‘In a Sentimental Mood’ – Ella Fitzgerald**

**‘In a sentimental mood**

**I can see the stars come through my room**

**While your loving attitude**

**Is like a flame that lights the gloom’**

“I can do it, I can do this,” Delia says, arms rigid at her sides as she talks to herself in the mirror. You admire the curve of the white and blue polka dotted dress as it melds to her silhouette in all the right places. “It’s just Pats. It’s just Pats and her daughter. I can do this. I can’t do this,” she says, followed by a sob as she turns to face you. You push off against the counter you were leaning on and step further in Delia’s room Delia’s space.

“You can. It’s just us and we already love you.”

“How do you know that?” she says, frown in place. You run your hands up and down her arms, soft smile in place before tucking a stray lock of her behind Delia’s ear.

“Since the moment I met you, I’ve loved you and, my Darling, did you think I would hide anything from my daughter?”

“What do you mean?”

“She found some pictures a while ago; there was one of us when we worked together at the London. She asked about you and I told her.”

“Everything?” she says, frown still in place. You sigh, guiding Delia to sit down as you crouch in front of her

“Of course there were…things I could not tell her but she knows that I care very deeply about you and most importantly, she knows you love yellow and cupcakes.”

“Well, that is very important information.”

“Yes, especially to a six year old.” After your soft laughter dies down, you sit together in silence, morning sunlight streaming into the room. You turn and catch sight of the daisies proudly standing on the window sill, fondly remembering a sweeter, easier past with your love, your love who was sat in front of you, body between your two hands still holding her.

“How did you know? How did you know to come and get me?”

“Sweet girl, nobody knows us like we do. I knew you’d be anxious but there really is no need. Elle will love you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Right. Okay. I can do this.” You both stand, you staring at the Welsh beauty in front of you.

“Yes, you can,” you say, leaning forward and kissing Delia’s cheek. Your breathe in her soothing scent, lavender and something so intrinsically Delia before stepping back and noting the light blush spreading across her cheeks. You giggle softly, nudging her with your arm. She smiles and turns, picking up her bag and tucking her coat over her arm, taking a deep breath and squatting her shoulders.

“Right, Miss Mount. Let’s go,” she says, swooping towards the door with a confidence that belies her anxiety.

You smile. Your love hasn’t changed one bit.

It takes approximately five minutes before the nerves come back. You see it in the way her footsteps slow and her proud stance begins to dip, her eyes focused on the ground below her rather than the warm Spring day unfolding before her.

You take a step closer, linking your arm with hers and look at her, not saying a word but reaching forward with one hand and lifting her chin. Blue eyes lock with your and you stop, tilting your head before squeezing her arm once more and ploughing forward.

“Wait,” Delia says, stopping rather abruptly. “Wait. If you came to get me, who’s looking after Eleanor?”

“Barbara, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” she says, picking up her speed again.

Before you know and perhaps before Delia was ready, you’re standing outside of your door, giving Delia a few moments to compose herself.

“This door is as red as your lipstick, Cariad.” You smile and shrug.

“What can I say, I have a thing for red.”

“That you do.” You both giggle and that’s when Barbara opens the door, round belly proudly protruding in your direction. You see a bundle of brown hair head in your direction and land in your arms before you have a chance to say anything.

“Mummy.”

“Hello, Darling,” you say, adjusting the yellow dress Elle is wearing. “Thanks, Barbara.”

“Yeah, thanks Aunty B.”

“You are most welcome,” Barbara says, stepping forward and ruffling Eleanor’s hair before they pull funny faces at each other. Delia stands at your side, quietly observing, her eyes bright with something you can’t quite place.

“Deela,” Eleanor screams down your ear when she notices the newcomer at your side. Delia jumps at the volume of your daughter before shuffling her feet.

“Delia,” you correct.

“Deel-E-A,” Eleanor corrects and you and the other two adults smile fondly at your clever little girl.

“Yes, that’s right, and you must be Eleanor.” Elle nods her head vigorously, squirming in your arms. You let her down and watch her walk over to Delia. Delia crouches down and your two loves stand, face to face in silence. You glance over to Barbara and see your anxious expression mirrored.

“You can call me Elle,” your girl says, breaking the tension and stepping closer, her hands cradling Delia’s face as she frowns and pokes her tongue out. “You look like me.” She smiles, wrapping her arms around Delia’s neck and everyone grins.

“Well then I must look very beautiful to look like you,” Delia charms, giggling as Elle burrows her head into the crook of Delia’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, Barbara. I see a congratulations is in order.”

“Yes, baby number two is on the way.”

“Let’s hope this one’s a girl, for Elle’s sake,” you sake, reaching forward and gently rubbing Barbara’s bump a few times.

You look up and your heart melts at the site before you. Elle is enamoured with Delia, staring up at the Welsh beauty and you completely understand why.

“Mummy told me about you.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. Can you really make the best cupcakes in the world? Mummy tries but,” Elle finishes the sentence by crinkling her nose.

“Eleanor Delia Mount, I’ll have you know, my cupcakes are just fine.” Delia scoffs, Barbara giggles and Eleanor shakes her head.

“Cariad, if I remember right, baking was never your strong point, your cooking was at least edible but baking, no. Now, how about we take this inside? And don’t worry sweet girl,” she says, bopping Eleanor on the nose, “I promise my cupcakes are better. Would you like to make some with me sometime?” Elle nods her head vigorously, clearly excited at the prospect and you smile, warmth spreading through your chest and making you feel…happy in a way you’ve never felt before. Of course, when Eleanor was born you were happy, when you loved and held and were with Delia you were happy but having them both here, like this, it leaves you speechless.

“Well, it’s time I headed home. I have dinner to make and Tom probably needs me to look after TJ. Duty calls.”

Barbara walks – or rather waddles – to where her coat resides, picking it up and putting it on. You walk over, placing a hand on her back and rubbing gently.

“You’re walking?”

“It’s only five minutes away.” You sigh.

“Be safe and call me when you get home,” you say, following her to the door. Delia and Elle are still deep in conversation, the buzz of their voices relaxing you. You think for the first time you understand what home, what family means with them both filling your space with their life and love and laughter. “Really, thank you for looking after Elle for me.”

“It’s really okay, she’s always a pleasure and Pats,” she says, looking serious and running her thumb over your arm a couple of times, preparing herself to voice whatever’s on her mind. Your heart beat picks up and you can almost feel the blood rushing through your veins. “I-I’m really happy for you. I don’t know what’s going on, not exactly, but I’m glad she’s back.” Your frown.

“What do you mean?” Barbara looks to the side, sighing softly.

“Tom always says that love is the biggest blessing, that it’s God’s greatest gift. I’m just glad He gave it back to you.”

“I-I-I’m not sure that’s what Tom meant about love but thank you, really, thank you.” Your shoulders dip and you feel lighter, glad that Barbara understands and just…knows without forcing you to endure the awkward, girly conversations that Trixie submitted you to.

“I want you to know that-that my husband’s opinion, whatever that may be, is not my own. I see it, I see you two together and-and that really is a blessing. You don’t get to say that love is a gift from God and then say it’s wrong in some cases. That’s-that’s stupid and if Tom thinks that for a moment that’s he’s an…he’s a stupid, idiot that I love but that doesn’t make him right.” Tears begin to fall and you smile softly, wrapping Barbara in your arms. “Why are people so idiotic,” she says between sniffles and you know it’s the hormones wreaking havoc upon poor Barbara that are causing her to be so upset but you also know that those hormones don’t make people lie, that this is how she truly feels and you wish you knew how to voice your gratitude, your love and respect for not only this beautiful, strong woman in your life but Trixie and Sister Mary Cynthia and Delia, your Welsh beauty. Instead you squeeze her one last time before releasing her.

“I expect a phone call as soon as you get home,” you say, sternly.

“Of course but Pats, you know I’m pregnant not dying, right?” You giggle before she heads of, hand on her back. You watch until she turns the corner at the end of your road before heading into your home and admiring the sweetest sight you’ve ever seen.

Eleanor is sitting on Delia’s lap as they draw together, both their tongues poking out in concentration as they giggle and laugh and fill you with happiness. Delia looks up her eyes meeting yours and winks. You smile and shake your head.

“Well, since you two seem to be so busy, I guess I should go and get a start on dinner.”

“Oh, no,” they both say, first looking at each other and then back at you. You roll your eyes again before heading towards the kitchen.

You work in silence, listening to the noise of your girls as you prepare the food, chopping the vegetables and searing the meat, all the while with a smile on your face.

“I thought I better check you weren’t burning the place down,” you hear a Welsh lilt say. From the other room, you can hear Elle humming to herself. You turn, your back leaning against the counter. Delia makes her way over, her arms either side of you and trapping you in place. You peek over her shoulder and tilts her head, her eyes twinkling as she takes you in.

“She’s perfect, Pats.” You smile, resting your forehead against Delia’s.

“Just like you.”

“Sweet talker.” You kiss her briefly on the nose before turning around and continuing cleaning up the counter.

“Not if it’s true.” She giggles, running her hand over your back and you shiver.

“Need a hand?” she says, her voice huskier than a few moments ago. You roll your eyes.

“Now is not the time for…that,” you say, blushing and remembering all the appropriate times for…that you used to share together.

She giggles again, standing next to you and revelling in the blush encroaching upon your pale complexion. You try to remain stern but you cannot stop the smile from breaking free.

You look at her.

“Deels,” you sigh.

“I know. I’m glad I’m here, too,” she says, stroking your arm before turning to leave. “Call if you need my help, Cariad. I’ll be here waiting.”

You smile at Elle’s shrieks of laughter as she tries to evade the tickle monster.

Finally, Delia’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's graduating this July?   
> So sorry this took so long to update but I'm back :) I hope you enjoy this and please feel free to let me know what you think :)


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